AD 2017 Q4

GETTING HOOKED
Our guide appraises us critically as we motor toward
our first dive site. “Everyone got a reef hook?” he asks.
Heads nod. He briefs us to ensure we are comfortable
deploying the hooks (like barbless fishing hooks attached
to strong nylon cord) and then adjusting our buoyancy
to use them safely. I glance down at my hook, which has
been stuffed in a buoyancy compensator (BC) pocket
since 2010. I can’t recall such emphasis being placed on
reef hooks anywhere else I’ve dived, but Palau is famous
for merciless currents, and I have the uneasy feeling I’m
about to develop a new level of respect for the ocean.
We descend at Siaes Corner just as an aggregation of
orangespine unicornfish streams by, a black-and-orange
blur that turns the water column darker than the sky. The
current doesn’t allow us to view the spectacle for long,
however. It shuttles us rapidly past an anthia-clouded,
coral-covered slope to deposit us on the site’s namesake,
a rocky, rubbly elbow at 40 feet. The water brutally whips
past, and at our guide’s signal we hook in to watch silvertip
and gray reef sharks hunting in the blue. I fly above the
reef like a kite in the wind, and the sensation is glorious.
Back on the surface, our guide looks at the boat
captain and nods meaningfully, prompting another rainpelting
ride through a series of islands and channels.
We must have passed inspection. When we arrive at
our destination, the famed Blue Corner, the excitement
on the boat is palpable. The mooring line pulses in the
swell and the current, indicating that we’re in for a hell
of a ride. When we hit the water there’s no time for
contemplation; it’s mere seconds before we reach the
plateau that’s one of the best-known dive sites on the
planet. We hook in at the reef’s edge at 55 feet, dig our
teeth into our mouthpieces and do our best to manage
our cameras in the rip-roaring flow.
Dozens of gray reef sharks parade past just feet from
us, stacked up in the current and completely indifferent
to our presence. Dogtooth tuna, also key players in
the show, seem more voracious than the sharks, their
gluttonous tendencies made clear by occasional, echoing
THWACKs that denote the unfortunate demises of
nearby jacks. One by one, we release our hooks and drift
over the plateau to check out the second-tier wildlife
attractions: eagle rays, a school of chevron barracuda,
a leaf scorpionfish miraculously holding position and
sweetlips angling for a cleaning.
We’re happy to discover that Palau also has plenty
of hook-optional sites. At Ulong Channel we explore
a towering hard coral wall before arriving at a shallow
passageway. The current here feels like child’s play
after Blue Corner, and we float past patrolling gray reef
sharks and sleeping whitetips, a large ball of jacks and
streams of bigeye, bright against a sandy backdrop.
German Channel simply requires that we hunker
down next to a rocky cleaning station at 65 feet and
wait for the inevitable procession of mantas and reef
sharks. Mellowest of all is Dexter’s Wall, a sloping,
anemone-studded dropoff that reaches to within inches
of the surface. Thanks to nearby nesting areas, the site
is riddled with turtles. A pretty hawksbill, descending
from the surface, gets a glimpse of her reflection in my
port and makes chase, doggedly pursuing her glassy twin
from one end of the reef to the other. And here, as with
every other offshore reef in Palau, all you have to do to
view a gray reef shark is glance into the blue.
A SUNKEN PAST
Surrounded by the splendor of these islands, it’s nearly
impossible to comprehend the gory battles that took place
here during World War II. But as the site of one of Japan’s
strongest and most critically located naval bases, Palau
was an irresistible target for the United States. Operation
Desecrate 1, one of the major battles in Palau, consisted
of a merciless, 48-hour-long air raid that killed thousands
of soldiers, sank or damaged 36 Japanese ships and
confirmed Japan’s wartime shift to a defensive posture.
The shelter of Koror’s Malakal Harbor is filled with
historically significant shipwrecks, though most divers
visiting Palau never view them. If there’s one positive
aspect to our visit being plagued by bad weather, it’s
that we have a need to stay in the harbor — and a rare
opportunity to explore these wrecks.
We’re indoctrinated on the Helmet Wreck, named
for the stacks of helmets visible in the ship’s hold. I’m
not a war buff, but even I recognize the scene in front of
me: a sunken transport vessel with its hull splayed open
and depth charges spilling from the wound. Discovered
in 1990, few details are known about the ship’s demise
(though the gaping hole in its starboard side confirms
the cause). The 189-foot-long, artifact-packed structure
is upright and rests in 45 to 110 feet of water, which has
76 | FALL 2017